Amoure

O Lorde God than! how joyfull was I! She loked on me wyth lovely countenaunce; I kyst her ones or twise right swetely; Her depured vysage, replete with pleasaunce, Rejoyced my heart with amerous purveaunce. O lady clere! that perste me at the rote, O floure of comforte, all my hele and bote!

O gemme of vertue, and lady excellent! Above all other in beauteous goodlynesse! O eyen bright as sterre refulgent, O profounde cause of all my sekenesse, Now all my joye and all my gladnes, Wolde God that we were joyned in one, In maryage, before this day were gone.